Almost Famous

viewed September 24, 2000 at Sony Lowe's at Lincoln Center  Full Details

When I first saw Jerry Maguire, Cameron Crowe's last film, back in 1996, I was amazed by his ear for dialogue, a flashy manner of speaking among his characters that often rang notes of disarming sincerity -- as typified by Cuba Gooding Jr.'s "show me the money" bravado, Crowe's speeches are soulfully hip. This writing style, so patentedly Crowe's, perfectly matched the story, a slick-talking sports agent trying to come to terms with his conscience. Well, four years have past, not to mention a millenium, and as you might have guessed, yesterday's freshness has become today's convention. Much to my shock and dismay, the execution of scenes and dialogue in Crowe's Almost Famous summoned eerie flashbacks to episodes of "Dawson's Creek" or "Party of Five." It attests to Crowe's unheralded influence on youth-oriented pop drama over the past decade, or at least since he wrote the screenplay for Fast Times at Ridgemont High. Imitation is indeed the best form of flattery, but it is also the quickest way to render a style into staleness.

Just about all over, this movie feels like a 2-hour episode of the latest hot TV show featuring and targeting young people who are hipper than could ever be possible. Billy, Crowe's fictional younger self, played earnestly by the true-eyed Patrick Fugit, is told by his mentor Lester Bangs that he is "uncool", but by the end of the film everyone comes off looking good. Crowe seems too thrilled to be reliving the era to really put any of his characters in the hot seat, in spite of his efforts to land serious criticisms at some of them for essentially destroying rock n' roll.

The pervasive sweetness of this film damages the weighty tone that Bangs (played by the invincible Philip Seymour Hoffman) sounds near the beginning: "You're too late," he tells Billy. "Rock is in its death rattle." Up and coming bands are in peril; Woodstock is a fading memory, and the claws of corporate marketers can be heard sharpening themselves nearby. Billy follows one of these mid-level bands, named Stillwater, across the country on a symbolic tour of how rock and roll lost its innocence. Aside from the wide-eyed reporter/narrator, there is the band, growing ever more conscious of their image as the tour rolls on; their leader, a soft-spoken guitarist with smoldering looks and no real sense of purpose; and Penny Lane, the lead groupie, or "band-aid" if you will, who delivers her services for the sake of the music (sort of a rock version of Susan Sarandon's character in Bull Durham). They are all gorgeous too look at but are mere symbolic figments of a rock morality play that cares less about morality than playing. When Billy finally levels his jeremiad of betrayed values at the band, it is in the midst of the movie's most chaotic scene, an airplane caught in a storm, everyone belting out their final goodbyes and confessions. The point is lost amidst a free-for-all of who's-sleeping-with-whom.

Other tactics Crowe uses to bring past to the present just don't work. He apparently wanted to give this film a contemporary look, but he went too far -- when a girl appears in an early 70s stewardess' uniform, she looks like she's in the wrong movie. The also film tries its damnedest to generate period atmosphere with some carefully chosen tunes. The opening sequence really sets the tone: Billy as an 11-year-old comes upon the albums his sister has left for him. He flips through them, a catalog of "must-listens," and the scene achieves the effect of dual fetishism: of fresh discovery (Billy's) as well as warm nostalgia (Crowe's). This envigorating, if not overglorifying, moment sets the soundtrack and the movie in gear, but aroud midway it becomes clear that the near-constant procession of songs draws too much attention to itself and doesn't silence itself long enough to let the possibility of seriousness seep in.

Crowe remains a talented and underrated filmmaker -- and who knows, this film might make him more than almost famous, and identify him as one of the most young-at-heart directors around, with an ear for both music and voices. But for me, in delving through Crowe's past, there was nothing new to see. It will be interesting to see what he does for a follow up, and it is quite possible that he can attain the promise set by Say Anything and Jerry Maguire. He's almost there, but not quite.

Home